


break(fast)

by Cypherr



Series: Hollow [19]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evil Wilbur Soot, Gen, Good Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Insane Wilbur Soot, Panic Attacks, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Vilbur, Villain Wilbur Soot, he's trying his best y'all, how am I on part 19 already???? like damn, mentions of abuse, we are on the road to RECOVERY now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cypherr/pseuds/Cypherr
Summary: It had been three days since Tommy had entered the false sanctuary of his room. Three days since he had crawled under the warm, comforting darkness of his blankets and vowed to never leave.
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Hollow [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958773
Comments: 40
Kudos: 517





	break(fast)

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a MINUTE since I've updated this series y'all I'm so sorry

It had been three days since Tommy had entered the false sanctuary of his room. Three days since he had crawled under the warm, comforting darkness of his blankets and vowed to never leave. If he could not have the comfort of camaraderie, this was all he had left- and no one was going to take that from him.

Or, perhaps somebody was, because his door had just opened. It was a grating sound compared to the silence he had grown used to during the hours he was awake. It squeaked and groaned, and the door slid across the floor with an audible scrape. Quiet footsteps padded over to his sanctuary, but he'd recognize that scrape of talons anywhere. He knew it was Phil long before the man had sat on his bed and set a hand on his blanket covered thigh.

"Hey, Tommy," Phil breathed, and Tommy could imagine the look on his face. He imagined it looked like it did down in that fucking prison, pleading and open, like Phil truly believed that he was _helping_ Tommy by taking him _away_. Tommy just pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

"Can we talk?" Phil whispered, gently rubbing his thumb over the expanse of blanket he had laid his hand on. Was asking supposed to give him some sort of false security? Make him think that he had free will? He was fucking _trapped_. The only difference between here and with Wilbur, was that Wilbur never made him believe that he had free will to begin with. He was open with his intentions. But, he didn't want to die- he hated the respawn process with a passion- so he answered.

"Fine." The words crawled their way out of his throat, scraping against his vocal cords on their way out. It was likely the lack of use and dehydration, if he were honest.

"Can you tell me what happened with Wilbur?" Despite his gentle tone, the utterance of _his_ name still made him flinch. He tugged his comforter closer, burying his head in his mattress as he suppressed the whimper that threatened to climb out of his mouth.

"He punished me when I was bad. He was Wilby when I was good," he murmured. He- he _couldn't_ say any more on the matter. Whether that was because the thought of Wilbur sent his head into a frenzy, or that he thought that Phil didn't deserve to know, he wasn't sure. Phil sighed, the sound seeming more like a shout in the silence of the room, the quiet now oppressive compared to its former welcoming embrace.

"D'you think you can tell me what happened with Schlatt, then, mate?"

"You don't get it," He bit, the beginnings of a snarl on his covered face.

"I know, Toms. Can you make me understand, though?" Tommy hesitated. Did he want Phil to know? Better yet, did he even have a choice in the matter? His mind flashed back to the bright, white expanse of quartz, the cool metal bars, the grip around his waist, and the feeling of being carried away as he screamed bloody murder. No- no he didn't have a choice. He never did to begin with. He was stupid- an utter fucking dumbass- for thinking otherwise.

"He's the only other person to know the real Wil." He heard Phil suck in a breath, the air stuttering in his chest. He could hear the way his feathers ruffled, and he wasn't sure if it was from agitation or some other emotion he couldn't place.

"What do you mean by the real Wil?" Phil asked, voice shakey as it seemed to almost hang in the air around them, weighing him down, pressing his chest in and halting his lungs.

"Breathe, Tommy." Phil squeezed where his hand rested on his leg, and Tommy struggled to suck in a breath. It burned his throat the whole way down, flickering in his chest before forcing itself back out as a sob. The sensation caused his eyes to sting with tears and his head to feel numb- almost fuzzy, really.

"It's okay, Toms. In," Phil paused for a moment. "And out." Tommy tried to follow his instructions- he really did. He knew the consequences of bad behavior, after all. Disobedience was punished. Direct disobedience meant death. But he _couldn't_. The oxygen lit aflame every time he tried to inhale, burning it up before it could even reach his lungs, let alone fuel his body. His head throbbed and his limbs felt like jelly. He heaved lungful after lungful of air, but it was all fruitless. All useless. All _disobedient_.

"I- I can't. 'M sorry- _please_ ," he choked out, using the last little bits of breath that he had left in him. It was then that the weight on the bed shifted, and Tommy knew that it was over. The comforter he had barricaded himself from the world with was going to be ripped away and a sword would be plunged through his gut. Or, maybe, a blade would slit his neck instead, painting his navy blue bed sheets crimson. He supposed the contrast would look quite pretty, especially if the sunlight shone on the scene while still fresh. He could almost see it. The particles of smoke from his death fading away as the blood glittered as the rays shone on it, painting the room in a golden color.

He was surprised, however, when he was drawn into a warm embrace, his blanket of safety and familiarity never taken from him. His head was pressed gently into a warm, firm chest, and even through the layers of fabric, he could hear Phil's steady heartbeat and the way his chest rose and fell rhythmically, like it was its own, biological lullaby.

"Can you follow my breathing, Toms?" Phil asked, tone soothing and calm, no trace of the malice or righteous rage that filled Wilbur's when Tommy disobeyed. Tommy nodded, snaking a hand out from his cover to clutch onto Phil's shirt, the fabric familiar under his touch. It was the same, worn green robe the man had always donned, the cloth rough with use but soft with age. It was thin yet warm, and it felt of _home_.

The way Phil exaggerated his breathing was almost comical, but as time passed, Tommy's breathing slowed and returned to normal, only stuttering occasionally. It no longer burned and his head and limbs felt okay.

"'M sorry for disobeying," he squeaked out, unsure how Phil was going to react. He'd helped calm him down, sure, but maybe he had ulterior motives. Wilbur always did. Wilbur liked to treat him kindly before ripping the metaphorical tablecloth out from under him. He'd played this game before- was a veteran at it, really.

"It's okay, Tommy. Really," Phil murmured, squeezing him tighter for a second.

"Not gonna... hurt me?" He mumbled, squeezing the cloth in his fist tightly, like somehow the thought of home would save him.

"Never." With that admission, Tommy poked his head out of his comforter, staring at Phil with red rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks, hair a greasy mess that stuck up in odd angles and curled at the edges.

"Hi, Tommy," Phil smiled, ocean blue gaze warm and welcoming, no hint of malintent. It was strange, almost, having become so used to searching for any sign of danger, to feel nothing but warmth and safety coming from someone else.

"Hi, dad." He shut his eyes again, burying his face in his father's chest once more, not wanting the image of security to be ruined by the passage of time. Wilbur hated staring.

"Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you anything?" Tommy tensed. Was this a trick question? He- he shouldn't ask for things. He should be grateful for what he was given, nothing more and certainly nothing less. But... Phil was different?

"Waffles?" He choked, body rigid in preparation for the strike he knew was coming.

"Of course, Toms. Do you want ones with sweet berries?" Tommy nodded absently, the taste of home already on his tongue. It was always his favorite meal. He could remember bright and early mornings, the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen while Techno tried to get a few precious extra minutes of sleep slumped over at their oak table, Wilby keeping him entertained with blinding smiles and fantastical stories. He could feel Techno's playful swat when Tommy inevitably tried to annoy him by poking an ear or tugging on once long hair. He could feel Phil's good morning kiss on his forehead, and his goodbye hugs before Wilby walked him to the local schoolhouse, hands intertwined as he hugged his small frame close- to protect him, Wilbur had said.

He was crying before he even knew it. Big, fat tears rolling down his face as he trembled and shook in his father's hold, great, heaving sobs escaping his chest.

"Daddy," he wailed, pouring all of the hurt and the longing he felt into that one word, Phil's coos, praises, and reassurances ghosting over his ear as he broke. He wanted to go back to the way things were. He wanted smiles and hugs that weren't rooted in agony and trauma. He wanted brothers that wrestled and laughed with him like there was nothing in the world that would make them happier. He wanted sweet berry waffles because it was his usual breakfast, not because everything had fallen apart and he was a broken husk of the boy he used to be. He felt rotten and dark, and like he would crumble to pieces the moment Phil let go.

"I'm right here, Toms. For as long as you need me."

**Author's Note:**

> can we PLEASE normalize the use of the word daddy in just like,, everyday life?? I am TIRED of it being so sexualized like GROSS lmao yes i am kink shaming you. no i will not apologize


End file.
